


Belonging

by lallyloo



Category: Eagle of the Ninth Series - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 10:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lallyloo/pseuds/lallyloo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An innocent challenge causes Marcus to question his place, both as a Roman and in Esca's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belonging

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Eagle Reverse Big Bang 2012 to accompany nanuk_dain's art [I Belong](http://archiveofourown.org/works/537017)

It was early summer when Esca first challenged Marcus to a fight. They'd been back from the North long enough to see two seasons pass, and it seemed the warmth of the afternoon gave Esca an energy Marcus had rarely seen.

“Marcus,” he called, pulling Marcus's focus from the fields to Esca's place by the makeshift stable. He was shirtless, having stripped his tunic earlier in the afternoon, and even from a distance Marcus could see the sheen of sweat and dirt coating his skin. “Come, fight me.”

Marcus took a breath, unsure why Esca was entertaining the notion of a fight. “And for what shall we fight?” Marcus called in return, his voice light as he attempted to hide his hesitation.

“For what?” Esca replied, laughter tinging his voice. “Nothing more than the winner's right to say he was victorious.”

Marcus finally took a step towards Esca, then another, not wishing to reach him any sooner than need be. “And what brought this on?” Marcus asked, each step slow and careful as he made his way closer to the stable.

Esca gestured towards the sky, his other hand rising to shield his eyes. “It's a warm summer day,” he called in reply, “I'm tired of working, but am not yet tired. A wrestle in the grass would be a fine way to exhaust myself.”

“And you'd like to wrestle with me?” Marcus asked when he was finally close enough to see the amusement on Esca's face.

Esca laughed. “Is there another man around I should ask instead?” He made a point of glancing behind Marcus, then turning to look behind himself, searching for someone they both knew wasn't there.

“Well, I– “

“Marcus,” Esca interrupted, “As a boy I wrestled with my brothers on summer days much like this one. You won't convince me you've never wrestled.”

“I wouldn't try to convince you of that,” Marcus agreed, “It is only– “

Marcus paused, remembering his youth and the fights with other Roman boys. He never had brothers, nor a sister even, so he didn't know what it was like to fight with someone against whom you wished no ill will.

Wrestling with Roman boys was different – even as a boy, Marcus wanted to win at all costs. The fights were meant to be innocent, of course, but to Marcus they were something more. It was a matter of proving his strength and honour, and defending his family name. With his father gone and his name ruined, Marcus saw the wrestling matches as a way to prove himself as the remaining man in the Aquila household. His height made it easier, and in the past he wouldn't have hesitated to fight someone Esca's size.

He still wouldn't, if only the person challenging him wasn't Esca.

They'd fought before, of course, and Marcus's mind went back to that day in the North, when Esca knocked him from his horse and they battled in a ditch. He could still recall the anger in Esca's eyes and the intense rage that came with each strike of his fist. Marcus had been angry as well, and he hadn't hesitated to strike back.

Yet now, things were different. With Esca, it was different.

Although Marcus had tried to deny it to himself, a sense of guilt remained when his thoughts fell to Esca. Despite having been back for so long and having reached an understanding between them, the guilt was still there even though Esca was a free man.

“I mean no insult, my friend,” Marcus continued, interrupting his own thoughts. “But surely you've noticed that we are far different in size and I would be more likely to crush you than to grant you a fair fight.”

“Crush me?” Esca laughed. “Surely you've noticed my speed? I mean you no insult either, friend, but I am likely to be far quicker than you in a fight.”

It was true – for what Esca lacked in height he was sure to make up for in speed, and Marcus would be no match for that.

“And if I should win?” Marcus asked.

“If you should win I'll gladly give you the glory for a day, and tomorrow I'll challenge you to another fight.”

“And if you should win?”

“If I should win I'll never let you forget it,” Esca winked, “and perhaps I'll hold my glory over your head for weeks to come.”

If losing meant Esca wouldn't challenge him again, Marcus was determined to lose. 

 

His steps were slow and deliberate as he approached Esca, fumbling as he grasped at Esca's knee and made a weak attempt to throw him off balance.

“Surely a Centurion can fight better than that.” Esca smiled as he taunted him, moving quickly to escape Marcus's grasp and making a lunge of his own to knock Marcus to the grass.

Marcus went down hard and a laugh escaped him despite himself.

“Up, Roman,” Esca gave a friendly kick to his shins, encouraging Marcus to rise again. “We've only just started.”

Marcus pulled himself upright, being careful of his bad leg, and Esca gave him only a moment to compose himself before he lunged again. Marcus was ready this time, steeling himself as Esca struck him full on the chest and their arms wrapped around each other in an attempt to pull the other off balance.

“Ahh, a real fight then,” Esca muttered, his fingers flexing around Marcus's upper arms. “I was starting to fear you'd forgotten how.”

“Never,” Marcus grunted in reply.

It wasn't a true fight, though, not really. As long as he maintained the upper hand with strength over Esca's speed, he could have easily thrown Esca to the ground, and yet, Marcus remained where they stood, his hands clasped around Esca's arms as he feigned self defense.

A breath of laughter escaped Esca with each shove he gave Marcus, and if he noticed Marcus's hesitation he kept the observation to himself. They grunted and groaned in the hot sun, their sandaled feet slipping in the grass, until finally –when a moment presented itself– Marcus allowed himself to fall.

He went down hard on his bad leg, striking his knee against the ground, and the suddenness of it was enough to distract Esca from their fight.

“Marcus, are you alright?”

Marcus nodded, cradling his knee with one hand as Esca offered him a hand and pulled him from the ground. His knee pained him, but it was worth the temporary suffering if it meant their fight was at an end.

“I'll survive,” Marcus smiled, “although I believe I'm finished fighting, and you'll be pleased to know you've won.“

Esca made a disgusted sound in his throat, “I can't be pleased at an unfair outcome.”

“It was fair,” Marcus assured him, taking a few steps to test out his balance. “We fought, I fell, and you've won. My leg had little to do with the outcome.”

“And yet– “

“Esca,” Marcus interrupted. “You've won and I'll hear nothing more of it. Well done, my friend.”

“You as well,” Esca said, begrudgingly accepting his triumph as Marcus gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder.

Marcus felt a pang of guilt at denying Esca a true win, but the notion that their wrestling match was finished was enough to assuage any guilt.

 

A week passed before Esca challenged him again. Marcus was surprised by the suggestion – he'd assumed his injured knee and Esca's triumph would be enough to put any future wrestling matches far from Esca's mind.

As it was, however, Esca was ready to fight again, and the hot sun seemed only to push him on in his determination. They were spent after a long day in the field, with both of them coated in a thin layer of dirt, and it did seem a good day to fight. Normally, if it were anyone else challenging him, Marcus wouldn't have minded a wrestle in the grass.

Yet, fighting Esca was another story and when Esca suggested it Marcus hesitated again.

“You've had time to recover,” Esca goaded him, “and I think today is as good a day as any to see who the true victor should be.”

“You were the true victor,” Marcus replied, taking a step back and showing no indication he intended to fight Esca again. “I don't see why we must battle again.”

“It's summer, Marcus,” Esca said, motioning to the warm sky above them. “This heat puts a boil in my blood and makes me anxious to fight.”

“And you must fight me?”

“Again, I ask you,” Esca replied, gesturing around them, “who else am I to challenge?”

Marcus had no answer for him. Surely there was no harm in a wrestling match between friends, and summer did seem the time for it. Marcus couldn't deny the urge to plant his feet where he stood and throw Esca to the ground. He could imagine the coolness of the grass as they rolled, the slick of sweat and dirt on them as they fought each other, the taut feel of Esca's skin beneath his grasp–

“Are you ready?” Esca continued, pulling Marcus from his thoughts.

Marcus nodded slowly, still hesitant but unable to deny Esca's request, for what sort of Centurion would refuse a fight? What sort of man would refuse an innocent wrestling match with a friend?

_A friend._

It was the word he used for Esca, and Esca for him, and yet, Marcus knew his heart saw Esca as something more. There was an ache there each time he set eyes on Esca –whether they were crossing the fields together or sitting silently in the main room of their small homestead– and it seemed to grow stronger despite Marcus's internal resistance.

Marcus refused to voice the word to describe the ache. He saw Esca as his brother, but there was something more. There was a word Marcus's mind wouldn't allow his heart to utter, and it left him wondering where he stood, both with Esca and with Rome. For surely a proper Roman wouldn't allow himself to think of such a word, let alone feel it. And Marcus was certain Esca would laugh at him if he were to voice it.

To think, a Roman who refused to fight, and a man who saw his friend as something more.

Marcus cringed in shame as he glanced up at Esca. “Shall we fight then?”

He knew he would rather fake a fight than tell Esca what was in his heart.

 

Once again, Marcus moved slowly and deliberately as Esca lunged at him. They both knew Esca was the quicker of the two, yet Marcus would normally have been skilled enough to avoid several hits – hits which he gladly took from Esca, hoping to end their fight as quickly as it had begun.

As Esca pushed at him, their bare feet slipping in the grass, the smile fell from his face as frustration seemed to set in. He seemed to grow increasingly unamused and almost on the verge of anger at Marcus's refusal to fight back.

“Slow moving Roman,” Esca prodded, “has the summer heat slowed you down?”

Unable to think of a clever retort, Marcus merely grunted and gave a soft push back against Esca's shoulder.

“This country life has made you weak,” Esca goaded again, one arm slung around Marcus's side as he pushed his shoulder against Marcus's chest.

Marcus knew if he took merely a half step back he would crumple under Esca's weight, and he tested it, letting himself slip against the force of Esca's push. But Esca seemed too clever for him and eased off before Marcus fell, taking a step back himself.

“Don't give in for my sake,” Esca warned him. “Fight me like a man.”

“I haven't given in,” Marcus replied, his voice carrying a similar warning despite the lie Marcus knew was beneath it. “If you should win you'll do so because you've bested me.”

Esca met the warning with a violent lunge at Marcus's torso, knocking him off balance. Marcus struggled for a moment, his fingers fumbling against Esca's slick skin, before he let himself fall back onto the grass.

“Have I bested you then?” Esca muttered, staring down at Marcus.

“It would appear so,” Marcus replied, making no motion to rise.

Esca watched him for a moment and then spat at the ground. “Then it would seem I'm victorious again.”

The words were drenched in bitterness, and Marcus was once again struck with guilt at having denied Esca a proper victory. Marcus had given in, and this time it seemed they both knew it.

Esca turned away and headed for the house without another word.

 

It was eight days before Esca spoke to him again.

The silence between them put an ache in Marcus's chest that he hadn't felt for a long while. It was different than the usual ache, for now it was a painful thing full of guilt and shame and worry that he'd caused Esca undue dishonour. He'd faced silence from Esca before –for a long while after their first encounter, and again in the North when suspicion stood between them and Marcus felt as if he'd been betrayed by the first friend he felt he could truly trust– but this silence was different and Marcus could hardly stand it.

For his own part, Marcus avoided Esca as often as possible, focusing his energy on the farm and leaving Esca to tend to the horses on his own. It seemed to suit them both, and Marcus waited silently for Esca to break and forgive him.

Marcus's heart willed him to break their silence and explain, but his head won out and forced him to remain quiet. How could he explain that it wasn't a sense of pity that allowed Esca a victory over him, but was instead a sense of guilt and loyalty – and love?

_Love._

It was the word he dreaded and yet it came to Marcus's mind so frequently during their long stretch of silence. It was so unfamiliar to him that Marcus wasn't entirely sure it was the right term at all. He'd never felt love for another person. His family, perhaps, but never for another – until he'd met Esca.

And how could he be sure it was love? And if it was, what good would it do him to admit his feelings to Esca? A man loving another man –a Roman loving a Briton– surely it was something his kin would frown upon. Knowing this, how could he ever face his former cohort? How could he face his gods?

His questions had no answers, and besides, Marcus knew an answer would matter little. It was unlikely he would encounter his cohort again, and if he did it was likely his one act of bravery had been long lost and forgotten amongst the countless acts of others who had come since.

And his gods – he'd been lost to them since his time in the North. His prayers had gone unanswered and he felt it was his own heart that lead him to the Eagle, not the gods themselves. And what would they have him do if they were to learn of his feelings toward a Briton? Would they require him to turn against Esca? Would they ask him to enslave Esca again and bow before them? The idea wasn't a welcome one, and Marcus pushed it from his mind.

No, it was Esca who had remained loyal to him and saved him during their journey in the North. It was Esca who swore his allegiance and risked his life, and had remained by Marcus's side even after he'd been given his own freedom.

And now, it was Esca who refused to speak to him due to a misunderstanding and Marcus's own misplaced sense of loyalty and honour.

 

When Esca finally spoke to him again, forgiveness never came. They spoke of the dappled mare, and the crops Marcus was tending, before Esca returned to the stables. There was no smile or friendly banter, no forgiveness or a sense of understanding. 

Another two days passed with stilted conversation and an uneasy air between them, and Marcus felt nearly ready to break when Esca came to him in the late afternoon, his brow set in determination. The day had been particularly long as the sun beat down over both of them, and upon seeing Esca's face Marcus knew what Esca was about to ask.

It came not as a question, but as a command.

“Fight me.”

Marcus shook his head, avoiding Esca's gaze. “No.”

Esca kicked his sandals from his feet, setting his stance before Marcus, and commanded again. “Fight me. Properly this time.”

Marcus refused to respond, turning instead towards the farmhouse and leaving an angered Esca behind him.

“You do me a dishonour, friend,” Esca called behind him.

Marcus knew Esca followed and he attempted to quicken his pace in order to reach the farmhouse before Esca could challenge him again. His quickened speed gave him no advantage as Esca burst in after him, his voice seemingly louder in the small space.

“Either fight me or explain yourself,” Esca said, standing between Marcus and the doorway.

“I have no explanation,” Marcus replied weakly.

“Then fight me again,” Esca hissed, “prove you can fight me without pity.”

“I won't,” Marcus muttered. It was clear there was a misunderstanding between them, but he couldn't bring himself to explain the truth.

“You will.” Esca's cheeks were streaked with dirt and the light of the fire made his face appear harsh as he glowered at Marcus. “You've insulted me and I won't stand for it. I don't need your pity.”

“I don't pity you.”

“Marcus, I'm no fool,” Esca said through gritted teeth. “It was clear you let me win! And for what? I might be smaller than you, but I'm able to stand my ground, surely I've proved that to you by now. I never imagined I'd need to prove myself to you again.”

“I never meant to cause you anger or dishonour,” Marcus explained, keeping his eyes lowered to avoid Esca's gaze.

“And yet, you have.”

“I have,” Marcus conceded, “and for that I'm sorry.”

Marcus fell silent and he could sense the anger still emanating from Esca as he waited for Marcus to continue.

“You have nothing more to say then?” Esca finally spat. “You've insulted me and you're sorry and that's all you've got to say?”

“Esca– “

“No,” Esca interrupted, his voice nearly a shout, “if you've got nothing more to say then let's have a proper fight and put an end to this.”

Before Marcus could react, Esca stepped closer and shoved Marcus, sending him stumbling for a moment and Marcus quickly righted himself and regained his balance.

It was not a cruel gesture, only one meant to call him to fight.

“Esca, I won't.”

Esca shoved him again, with more strength behind the push, and it was the moment that pushed Marcus to breaking. Before he could stop himself he fell to his knees before Esca, his hands instinctively rising to touch Esca's hips as he pressed his cheek to Esca's stomach.

“I cannot, please.”

The words were all he was able to muster, and he could sense the hesitation in Esca as his own hand came up to clasp the back of Marcus's head.

Marcus willed him not to speak, hoping Esca would grant him one moment of weakness before they would part and never speak of it again. But his will rarely won out over Esca's, and it was only a moment before Esca spoke

“It's alright, Marcus. I'm sorry.”

It was not the response Marcus had been expecting, and at the words Marcus found he could only cling tighter to Esca. He felt Esca shift, his legs spreading slightly to accommodate Marcus's size and hold him closer, and he pressed Marcus's head to his chest.

“Forgive me,” Marcus whispered as shame rose within him. “You must think poorly of me. Surely a Centurion who refuses to fight cannot be a true Centurion”

“It needs no forgiveness,” Esca assured him, “and you are more than a Centurion,” 

Marcus clung to him in silence, his hands gripping Esca's arm and thumbing at the skin there

“Come,” Esca said finally, pulling Marcus to the floor and encouraging him to lie down before the hearth. “We should rest here.”

It was only when they moved that Marcus was able to see Esca's face for the first time, and he looked as confused and unsure as Marcus felt.

“I'm sorry,” Marcus muttered.

Esca hushed him and motioned for him to lie down, “We've had a long day, you need rest.”

Despite the discomfort the floor was a welcome relief, and its packed dirt was cool against Marcus's skin.

They stayed there for a long while, side by side, neither one speaking. As darkness fell outside, Marcus gripped Esca's wrist in his hand as if he feared that Esca would leave him in the night. As the meaning of his action hit him, a sense of guilt returned as if he were attempting to hold Esca captive and he quickly let Esca go.

After a moment, Esca shifted his hand closer and let it rest against the side of Marcus's, as if he understood it was something Marcus needed.

The motion was enough to set Marcus's heart at ease, if only for a moment.

“I feel I should apologize for my behaviour,” Marcus said quietly. “Touching you that way, I meant nothing by it.”

Esca hushed him again. “Surely it meant something, but if you do not wish to tell me I won't force you.”

Marcus remained quiet until Esca spoke again.

“It was only meant to be a game.”

 _The fight._ Marcus's mind had been so focused on his shame that he'd nearly forgotten about the wrestling match.

“My mind knows that,” Marcus acknowledged, “and yet, my heart knows something more. It will not let me fight you.”

It was Esca's turn to remain silent, so Marcus forced himself to continue.

“I'd never wish to fight you or bring you harm, and I don't wish to prove myself against you. I have no need to prove myself stronger or better than you. I wish no competition between us.”

“It was only meant to be a game between brothers, Marcus,” Esca replied, and Marcus could feel his gaze on him as he spoke. “But if you feel that strongly, I won't force you. I'll admit I'm disappointed to know we may never fight as brothers, but I would never ask you to go against your heart.”

_His heart._

It was what had kept Marcus silent for so long, and it was the thing that had pushed them to this point. His heart was what caused him to fall before Esca and beg his forgiveness, and it was what made him press his skin to Esca's and savour that contact if only for a moment.

And it was his heart that finally allowed him to speak.

As Esca listened, the words began to pour from Marcus. He spoke of his confusion, his uncertainty, and the way his head and heart pulled him in two different directions. He was unsure of many things – where he stood with Esca, where he stood with Rome, and how could he ever find balance between the two?

To his surprise, Esca laughed. “You think too much, my friend.”

“I fear you may be right,” Marcus muttered.

He'd always been lost in his own head, and his head and heart had been at odds with each other for as long as he could recall. It was what had brought him to that point, and what had kept him from being completely honest with Esca over matters of the heart.

“It is only– “ he began, pausing as he willed himself the strength to speak openly. “I'm unsure of where I belong.”

“You fool,” Esca whispered as he reached across the small space between them and encircled Marcus's fingers in his own. “You belong here, with me.”

Marcus didn't ask him to clarify the meaning of his words as it was suddenly clear that Esca didn't need to.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence until finally Marcus slept.


End file.
